Tag Archives: Paul Auster

I didn’t see that one coming

I have gone on and on and on about why this author and I aren’t really that chummy. A representative summary: His The New York Trilogy impressed me, but failed to touch my heart; and then, I was so in love with his Invisible that I hazarded saying, “I like this ‘new’ Paul Auster.” And […]

“Life as we know it has ended, and yet no one is able to grasp what has taken its place.”

#36 of 2011 • In the Country of Last Things, by Paul Auster And so Auster tries to figure it out by himself. Here, yet another Paul Auster. Not the Auster I’m used to, not the convoluted post-modern woozy, definitely not the breathtaking shmexy-tenderness of Invisible. This time, he’s tackling exploring a post-apocalyptic world: Is […]

This Paul Auster, this!

I. I have finally read a Paul Auster that I wholeheartedly like in his fifteenth novel, Invisible. My odd relationship with Auster’s fiction has made me his wary reader. I like the cerebral-ness of his works, yes, appreciate the craft — Auster the Trickster. But I always feel this lack of engagement. Auster The trickster […]

Sasha might be enjoying reading the “About the Author” pages a smidge too much –

[This is all obviously off the top of my head. Hello, lazy weekend.] [And thanks to The Boyfriend for letting me borrow his Robert Lowell poetry books for yet another fuzzy book pictorial.] You know the whole la-dee-dah about letting the text speak for itself, the author being dead and all that jazz, the Not […]

marginalia || The New York Trilogy, by Paul Auster

And then, most important of all: to remember who I am. To remember who I am supposed to be. I do not think this is a game. On the other hand, nothing is clear. For example: who are you? And if you think you know, why do you keep lying about it? I have no […]